


The 3 people you meet after death; who happen to have your organs

by DrNewton



Category: Last Christmas (2019), Last Christmas - Fandom, Last Christmas - film
Genre: 1 Year of Miraculous, 3 organs, 3 people, Afterlife, Death, F/M, Other, being a ghost is hard, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-01-30 12:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21428122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrNewton/pseuds/DrNewton
Summary: Tom is dead. He knows he is dead. So why was he wearing a grey sweater, black pants, and a beige winter coat? Most importantly, why was he standing on a sidewalk in the middle of London at night?
Comments: 16
Kudos: 27





	1. Sighing at death.

**Author's Note:**

> Sigh. I had written a whole summary/introduction/yadda yadda yadda then I lost it all. Long story short: went into the movie theatre with little to no knowledge of the film, walked out loving it. So here is a origin story for Tom Webster. The sweetest ghost in all of London with the lamest last name. 
> 
> It is more Last Christmas meets Good Omens than the serious vibe that Last Christmas is. 
> 
> Also, I am in search for a BETA reader who can proof read my work. Ideally they also add notes on my mistakes and how I can not make them in the future. I am always trying to learn and practice.

Tom is dead. He knows he is dead. He remembers the hospital, fading in and out of conscious. He remembers the images of everyone he loved or somehow made an impact in his life. They flashed by as they came and went. He remembers trying to hold them and shout at them to not leave. He differently remembers the white light.

In fact the white light engulfed him just moments ago. He was scared to say the least, upset more as he felt he wasn’t ready to go but he knew he had no choice.

So why was he wearing a grey sweater, black pants, and a beige winter coat? Most importantly, why was he standing on a sidewalk in the middle of London at night? 

*** 

When Tom was alive he appeared to the public as someone who had his life together. People envied how calm he was in any situation, while others admired how he was able to keep his positivity in the darkest of times. Nearly everyone he met who wasn’t homeless struggled to accept a man who was able to hide his phone and actually enjoy moments of life. If Tom was honest, he found pride over that, if not a little bit smug. He would make sure to keep that deep down and not think about it. 

What people didn’t know about Tom was that he’s actually just very good at hiding it all. In fact, Tom was a mess; his early 20s being the ugliest period of his life. He was human after all and no human has their life sorted out. No one. 

So when he stood on the street corner taking deep breaths as he tried to figure out what to do next, he came up with an idea every other single human (and possibly animal) on this planet would do; go home.

He walked in a random direction, not wanting to admit to himself that he didn’t know where he was or maybe he did, that pub did look familiar, then again all pubs looked the same. He stumbled through the streets as if his legs had forgotten how to walk. Despite his concentration to take one step at a time (literally) he tripped over an uneven stone and fell. He felt no pain as his shoulder and head hit the ground. He sat up and rubbed his head he noticed there was no blood. Yup, he was for sure dead. He started to rub his head again he looked upwards. 

“You idiot,'' he told himself as he noticed the sign with the bulldog and the lion growling at each other.  
“Look up”. Of course that is what he had to do. Look up. Look at the streets, the signs, the windows, the skyline. That will lead him home.  
  


***

  
When Tom was alive, he didn’t believe in ghosts nor did he think about them very often. However, if there was one aspect about being a ghost that did surprise him it was the fact that ghosts actually can not walk through doors and walls.

He learned that the hard way when he tried to walk right through the front door of the building of his flat. Just moments ago he searched his pockets for his keys but they were empty. That was when he had that light bulb moment of “I am ghost, I can walk through anything!”. 

Just like the fall earlier, it didn’t hurt, but it left a bang. It was loud enough to spark the curiosity of his downstairs neighbour, who opened the door to peek outside. 

“Good evening Mrs smith” Tom said as he smiled, keeping the tone of calm, polite, and cheerful that he always held. She didn’t respond, she kept looking around even inspecting the door to make sure there were no damages or worse, graffiti. 

Tom sighed, of course she wouldn’t have been able to hear him let alone see him. He kicked himself for not thinking of the obvious. “Come on Tom, you know better,'' he murmured to himself before he noticed Mrs Smith starting to close the door. He jumped through the opening to block the door of completely closing. 

In Mrs Smith's point of view, all she saw was the door clamping up halfway. “Oh bugger the door is stiff again,'' she said to herself out loud as she started to put her weight on the door to get it to close. Mrs Smith could feel resistance and she could have sworn the door was fighting back, why else would the door keep bouncing back?

That was because Tom was pushing the door away from him. He fought it until he could fully squeeze his way inside. As he slipped in and stood against the wall, Mrs Smith gave one big push causing the door to slam shut with her falling to the ground. 

Tom stood against the wall stiff wondering if he could help her up or better yet, should he? Being a ghost was a lot harder than one would expect, it was becoming obvious that there will be new moral dilemmas in the future. His mortal morals took the better of him, he was still Tom after all, he leaned down and lifted her up to her feet causing her to scream. He let go and took a step back towards the stairs. She looked around, blinking quickly, her face showing a bit of confusion but Tom couldn’t help but notice the smile on her face.   
  
“What was that?” she said to herself.

Just than her husband popped his head out of their flat, “What you up to sunshine?” he asked, more annoyed than curious. 

“Patrick, something just lifted me up in the air”.

Patrick responded by raising his elbow. 

“I hovered above ground Patrick! I did, I swear. '' She insisted.

“Far from the truth.” Tom thought to himself, oh look his cynical side is back, he hadn’t met that version of Tom since he was 27. But he wasn’t the only with the same thought. 

“Ahhh bullshit, if you hovered above ground that I am 20 stones lighter.” Mr. Smith snapped back. 

“I did, I swear!” She replied as she made her way back in the flat, closing the door behind her. Tom was sure she didn’t hover above ground, but he made a mental note that at any point in the future, if the time was right, he will try to lift her again, and give her the moment of hovering. Even if it only lasts 10 secounds. 

As Tom carefully walked up the stairs he wondered how he was going to get into his flat. When he reached the top of the floor that his flat reside, he sighed. He could see the door shut closed.

He stood in front of the door, telling himself to take deep breaths. Why was death just as difficult as being alive? Why can’t one thing come easy? This was ridiculous, wasn’t the consolation prize of death is that you no longer had to deal with the mundane aspects of life?

“Why can’t there be a handbook on how to be a ghost, like in Beetlejuice?!” he shouted out loud. 

Just then the door knob clicked and turned, making a creek noise as it opened slowly. The lights were on. He never left the lights on. His first reaction was to run. That is what any human would do after all. But this was HIS home and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let anything take it away from him, not living nor dead. 

He crept down the long narrow hallway trying to readying himself for what was to come when he reaches the kitchen meets bedroom.

Nothing was there. 

He looked at his hands, did he have powers? Was the payoff of being a ghost was not to be able to walk through walls that but something bigger, more special?

“Unfortunately, the answer to both of your questions is no,” replied a voice behind Tom.

Tom turned his body to face almost ready to attack only to be greeted with a gentle smile. 

It was a man of his height, he had curly blond hair with blue eyes. He wore a beige suit with a grey vest with a white dress shirt underneath. The only colour within his outfit was the red and white over sized bow tie that sat around his neck with pride. 

“Hello!” the mystery man waved with a smile. 

“And you are … ” Tom asked, waiting for the stranger to finish his sentence.

“I’m an angel. Oh it’s best you don’t know my name. Frankly those who learn my name often find themselves getting a wee bit of trouble” He said non chanletly as he made his way to Tom’s kitchen. 

He started to poke inside of Toms cupboards and fridge, “Got any alcohol? We’re going to need it during our long talk”, he asked with a smile.  
  


***

The two sat at the kitchen bar, each with their own wine glass. The angel preoccupied himself by trying to get the bottle of wine to open while Tom took off his new winter coat and hung it up. After a few minutes of watching in frustration, Tom finally grabbed the bottle and popped it open. The angel clapped in glee.

“Now, before we start drinking, I must make it clear that you don’t get used to this. Ghosts are not suppose to having wine or any earthly edible delights. Consider this a little celebration of your life!” He poured a large glass and slid it over towards Tom who recently took it. 

The angel poured himself a glass then raised it, “Cheers”. 

Tom nodded and clinked his glass to the angels. Tom found himself taking large gulps, trying to taste every drop. The last time Tom drank this much and this fast was on his 24th birthday. It was a night of getting shitfaced and having fun but it wasn’t until he was woken up by a hotel maid at 2pm three days later that lead to Tom vowing to limit his drinking to the most special of occasions, and even then he was allowed only one drink. 

The angel let him finish his drink before pouring Tom some more. 

“I know I’m dead.” Tom said, wanting to get this conversation over with. 

“Mmm, already ahead of the game. You always were.” The angel replied, focusing on his own glass of wine. “You would have been considered a saint if God hadn’t closed the application list”.

Tom laughed. “I’m not a saint.” He replied before taking another sip of his wine, this time a little slower. “ I haven’t travelled the world, I never applied to Doctors without Borders, nor have saved children from hungry or civil war. In fact, I am pretty convinced that I haven’t produced any miracles.” He took another sip of his wine. 

The angel rolled his eyes. 

“Tom, from the age of 25, everyday of your life, you woke up with one goal in mind, “make one good decision a day”. You took it to heart. You took time to consider what you were buying or eating, you reconsidered your career, made an effort to volunteer and most importantly, you focused on how you spoke and treated others.”

Tom shrugged, “That doesn’t make me a saint, that makes me a good guy..”

The two sat in silence as they both stared at nothing in opposite directions. The angel ideally circling the rim of the glass with his index finger. 

“You know, being a mortal human is hard. ” The angel started, catching Toms attention. 

“But it is the smallest of actions that you choose to make in life that makes it what it is. You choose to go against the tide (as you would say) and do good acts. Those positive choices grew, leading you to leave a huge impact on others. That in itself is a miracle.” 

The angel smiled and Tom knew he was sincere. 

“You’re here because I am making a case to the Court of Kindness for you to become a saint.” He replied, finally answering the question that has been hanging in the air since his arrival. “But you must produce your final miracle to earn the title.”

“I really don’t want to be one.” Tom replied, hoping this would allow him to just move on, literally. 

“Well, that is what every saint says until the perks of the afterlife come into play.” The angel chuckled. 

“I believe in reincarnation.” 

“I never told you what the afterlife is.” The angel was quick to reply. 

“What happens if I fail to pass my saint test?”

“Oh nothing, you will be lead on to the afterlife, judge just as anyone else and well you will see. Where’s if you become a saint, no judgement, major benefits in the afterlife, oh and you might get a day dedicated to you depending on the region and sector. ”

“And if I refuse?”

“Well then you better get your spooky on.” The angel chuckled. 

Tom sighed as he pushed his now empty glass towards the angel. “Fine. I will do it, but only if it means I can move on as soon as I finish the test. Oh and I don’t agree with this at all.”

“Oh but Tom, I think you will.” The angel said in a soft voice and he twirled his hands, turning on Tom’s TV. The screen displayed three split screens. 

“Right now, three people, various backgrounds, lifestyles, ages, dreams, and most importantly, methods of fucking up their lives are currently receiving an organ that you have donated.” 

Tom looked at the screen in aw as he watched each doctor surgically placed his organs into the strangers body. Tom had actually forgotten that he signed up to become an organ donor. He was renewing his health card four years ago when the option came up on the paperwork. He checked off the little box and skipped past the part that asked if he had any body parts he wished NOT to donate. That was that. He never thought of it again. 

“You need to find these three people.” The angel said softly.

Tom couldn’t look away from the screen. He didn’t want to. All he could think of was his body, gone, pieces of himself now in them. 

Finally he summed up a sentence, “... and do what?”

The angel fiddled with his glass which still had a bit of wine. He was smiling as he watched Tom. 

“Do what you do best. Be you.” 

The screen shut off. The angel stood up and made his way to the exit. Tom jumped up to follow him to the door. As the angel met the door he turned to him, a little closer than Tom would have liked. 

“You have one year. You can stay here, it will take about 9 months or so for this place to be legally ready to sell, and I am able to delay it a bit, but no longer than a year.”

The angel left, starting to make his way down the stairs. 

“But how am I able to do this without magical ghostly powers?” Tom shouted as he watched the angel. The angel snapped his fingers. “There’s your bike, good as new, it is all you need. Remember, you are a ghost with ONE year, make the most of it.”

Tom heard the front door slam shut. Silence filled the hallway.

He turned back to his flat to find his bicycle and helmet. 

Tom sighed for the **4th** time in one night. He wasn’t one to sigh a lot but then again death seem to bring out a new Tom. He brought in the bicycle into his flat. He made his way to the bed and laid down as he took deep breaths. Each breath leading him to feel drowsy. HE guessed that even ghosts needed rest.

“Ok Tom, you got this.” He told himself as he fell into a deep slumber. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I may have based the angel on Aziraphale from Good Omens. More of a AU Aziraphale though, but with the same outfit because apparently beige represents angels in a lot of pop culture. As long as Christianity exists in the universe, Aziraphale exists. If Aziraphale comes back and stays being the Good Omens version, than well I will turn this fic into a cross over. 
> 
> Please comment and review! The more feed back, the better!


	2. Moving Boxes and Tissues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like where the story is going but I hate my writing.

Tom took a big inhale as he woke up. It felt as if he was being risen from the dead. He kept breathing heavily as he looked around his flat. He could hear his door rattle. 

He stood up and watched the door as it flew open and Mrs Smith smiled at two women and a man. Tom’s heart sank as he recognized knew who the women were; his mother and sister.    
  
Tom's mother who wore a traditional Malaysian white dress, one who would wear while mourning. She stared at the ground with a sorrowful face. That was when the second woman jumped through. Tom's sister who was 7 years younger than he was and wore a black sweater and pants started to shake Mrs Smith hand.

“Thank you so much Mrs Smith.” His sister said softly. “We promise not to bother you anymore.”

“Oh nonsense.” Said Mrs Smith, “He was a good man and neighbour who left too early. If you need anything, even just a cup of tea and a few biscuits, I will be here.” 

Tom smiled. Mrs Smith always had a good heart with strong working class morals. She found it important to know ones neighbours and strongly believed that the key to survival was a community. He knew that he really had to make an effort to give her that levitating experience and soon. 

Tom's sister walked into the apartment as she tried to hold back tears. The man, a tall, thin South Asian man followed, placing his hands on the sisters shoulders. 

She sniffled a bit as he held her. 

“Are you sure you ready for this Helen?” he asked and she buried her face in his chest. “You know these things takes months to sort out before it’s ready to sell, you have plenty of time.” 

She nodded in disagreement. “Mama, you need to come in.” she shouted.

Tom's mother was still standing in the hallway. “I’m not ready.” she said in a matter of fact. 

“Neither am I” said Tom out loud despite knowing they wouldn’t hear him. 

“Look, it has only been a few days …” The man said.

_ “A few days? It happened last night!” _ Tom thought. 

“... why don’t we just take the week off, then come next week. We will arrive prepared and emotionally ready with moving boxes and tons of tissues.”

“What do you mean a FEW DAYS?” Tom shouted at them, still knowing it was a lost cause. 

“Good Idea.” His mother said coldly. Quick to make her way back downstairs. 

By then Helen was struggling to keep the tears in and gave in. She reluctantly followed her boyfriend who held her hand as he guides her out. The door shut and locked. 

Tom began to panic as he ran to the kitchen cupboard. He reached for his phone and pressed on the power button. The dead battery signal displayed then went black.

“Shit”, Tom said before he fainted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of me feels like I should write a summary and outline for this fic then hand it over to a more experienced writer. 
> 
> Then again, I am really stubborn and sort of want to write the whole thing myself even if it means weak quality writing.


	3. A Little Update

Hey everyone, so I just wanted to give you all an update.

Thankfully Christmas time is over, and retail work is less busy. Summer time I work in film, so that will be super busy for me, but I have a little period of freedom to write!

So I end up watching Last Christmas 3 times in theatres, the last being on Christmas day. Haven't gotten sick of it yet!  
I noticed a lot of mistakes I made in the first two chapters when it came to characteristics of Tom being an Ghost. Some of it I will need to go back and rewrite and others I can fix over time.

I now have a digital copy (illegal for now, but I will buy the DVD so hush Paul, I already thrown so much money at yah), so I can fact check/reference. Currently I am writing a rough outline, and hope to start getting chapters out by February.

Also, if anyone wants to BETA read, aka help me grammar edit and fact check, I would love to chat! 

Happy reading, be it mine or someone else amazing fic!


	4. 2 Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom has been awake for 2 hours. Why?

Tom lost count how many times he went in and out of consciousness. Generally he woke up when his family visited. He would watch them go through his personal items, pick and choose what to keep and what to donate, and went red in embarrassment when they discovered some of his little secrets; not that he had many, but even saints-to-be had skeletons in their closet. Other times the visits were short, mostly only a few minutes. Often it was his sister coming in to search for paperwork or pick up a box to take to the homeless shelter on her way to work. It didn’t matter how long they stayed, he felt the exact moment they were out of range and then he would go unconscious. 

Except tonight. 

Tom sat alone on his bed looking out the window holding a mug of tea but not sipping it. He would have done anything to be able to drink the hot cup of tea at that very moment. That wasn’t an option, he learned the hard way earlier on and he only had himself to blame, the angel had warned him. He may have been denied the ability to drink, but there was no rule that prevented him from holding the steaming cup. Surprisingly just that simple action was comforting and he couldn’t feel any more alive, and British..

It was a typical wet evening, light rain drops were coming and going, but that didn’t stop Londoners from celebrating. He heard a man shout “FUCK DRY JANUARY! IT’S FEBRUARY FIRST AND I’M GOING TO DROWN TONIGHT!!” along with a bunch of lads cheering. 

Tom had been dead for a month and a half. So much for playing the game to sainthood if he sleeps through most of it. Though Tom couldn’t let go of an observation; today he woke up with no one in his house.

He thought of the time his father died. His parents were separated, a piece of freedom his mother gained when she moved to England. Despite the pending divorce, his mother encouraged Tom and his sister to spend time with their father. It started off with weekends and the odd week nights, eventually becoming full on week long visits. Both of his parents made the effort to put their differences aside to celebrate his birthday together, and neither parent denied an invitation to a seasonal holiday celebration. Tom considered himself lucky to have parents who were capable of co-parenting which allowed him to hold a strong bond with his father. So that fateful Tuesday afternoon, when he arrived home from school to find his mother crying, he knew his life wasn’t ever going to be the same. 

The first few weeks after his father's death, Tom didn’t want to think about him. It hurt too much emotionally and physically. He would realise how his father was gone for good, to never come back which reminded him of morality and for an 11 year old, that was scary. 

However, as time went by, the pain eased and Tom started to think about him more. He started to allow memories to flow through his mind which actually became comforting. Then the little things in life would happen, such as a good F1 race in which Tom would watch and he would say to himself “ _ father would have loved this outcome. _ ” As he grew older and was starting to experience so many firsts, he would think about his father, wondering if he was watching. If so, did he approve? what would have been his advice? Was he proud? He would use old memories to judge how his father would react in the present. In a way, in Tom's mind, he was keeping his father alive. 

Was that what his family was doing?

That was when Tom noticed the beige winter jacket still hanging on the bar stool. It seemed to have gone unnoticed by his family after all their visits. If his family is keeping him alive, then he might as well act it. He got up and threw on the coat and made his way out, leaving the still steaming cup of tea left to go cold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My life was being awesome, I may be an introvert but I still lived an exciting and busy life. Then COVID 19 hit and I went into a wee bit of depression. Figured I should get back to writing. Now or never to get into the habit.
> 
> Anyway, I found this chapter in a folder with tons of short (and badly written) fan fiction. After 30 minutes of editing it, it is good to go to be posted. Yes it is short, but I figured I would post it to show you I have not left this project. The story picks up after this too based on my drafts I got going. So I will REALLY need a BETA reader.


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